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Ranters Wanted

Would YOU be an alcoholic if only you could make it to the meetings? Do YOU possess the ability to have a really good rant whilst obeying the basic rules of grammar? If the answer to these questions is YES, then feel free to share your deepest, innermost thoughts with your friends here at MyLaowai.com

Fuck you. No, really, fuck you. If I had my way in this world I would have long ago buried you neck deep in a pile of rotting donkey manure and then pissed all over your fat face as your tears mingle with the maggots that slowly crawl up your face to wriggle in your eyes.

You know I’m talking to you, Laughing Girl, you insignificant waste of a One Child Policy. I see you in many places, and in every place you are still the human equivalent of the type of dried up smegma found beneath the foreskin of Gandhi. Sometimes you’re in KFC serving my latest portion of tasteless white filth; sometimes you’re sat giggling behind some other fuckwitted colleague in the China Mobile shop losing my business; and sometimes you’re sat behind me on the bus going through your stupid ringtones again and again like some demented Pavlovian experiment gone wrong. No matter where I am in China, I’m guaranteed to bump into your retarded face at least once every fucking day. By the rusty nail that impaled Christ’s right hand to that wooden cross one day; I hate you so very fucking much.
And why do I hate your cunting face so much? Why, even though in the grand scale of things you amount to slightly less than a cockroach’s fart, do I hate you so much?

Your laugh.

Your stupid inane laugh that sums up everything that is wrong and ignorant about this massive East Asian dung heap that masquerades as a “country”.

Do not fucking laugh at me for nothing. If I have made a witty allusion between the tragedy of World War One and the works of George Bernard Shaw, perhaps including a paradoxical epigram or two that highlights the absurdity of human existance with reference to early Greek theatre, then please feel free to laugh. Again, if I decided to perform for your entertainment one of the more whimsical scenes from a Shakespeareian comedy, please allow your laughter to flow until you are as bereft of ribs as an invertebrate. However, and I will say this loud and clear because just by looking at you it is obvious you have all the wit and intelligence of afterbirth, DO NOT LAUGH AT ME FOR NOTHING.

Do not burst in hysterics because I have just ordered a chicken sandwich. You work in KFC for fuck’s sake – it’s your job.

Do not turn around and giggle because I have just asked you in flawless Mandarin for a bank transfer form – if your lowly bank position was in a proper bank in a proper country, I would have had you fired a long time ago.

Do not write “Ha Ha Ha :-)” in an email when I have just written to you asking why your company has suddenly decided to increase the price of our F-Max delivery by 250%.

And most of all: do not laugh loudly and point me out to all your friends just because I happen to be foreign and I happen to have walked past you. Bitch.

If the People’s Republic of Filth is as full of ignorant and selfish women like yourself as it sometimes seems, then you really don’t deserve a woman’s rights movement. Everytime you greet my presence with a peal of racist laughter, I silently wish that you didn’t have the vote. Oh, you don’t have the vote, do you? Looks like my wish came true then.

I don’t like your country, so when the triumphant day comes when I finally take your advice and “go home”, I swear to you Laughing Girl that I will throw a pan of hot oil in your vapid face and wipe that sneering grin off once and for all. And if by some fiendish plot by HE WHO WALKS BACKWARDS HIMSELF you somehow manage to set foot upon my Green and Pleasant Land, I promise that everytime you approach me and say “I sorree, my Engerlish no very good good”, I will just laugh in your face and walk off.

And by the way you stupid whore, here’s some advice: Covering your mouth with one hand so that you can whisper something inane and ignorant to your friend doesn’t mean I don’t know that you are talking about me.